


Return to Sender

by aliceslantern



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Existential Crisis, First Time, M/M, NSFW, post ReMind, post kh3, very very mild spoilers for ReMind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 08:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22392904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliceslantern/pseuds/aliceslantern
Summary: With Xehanort dead, Demyx is now Radiant Garden's resident delivery boy. However, considering he's still technically a vessel, he's got a choice to make--whether or not to take the plunge and become human again. Making this choice is easier said than done, but a familiar face helps him through it.
Relationships: Demyx/Ienzo (Kingdom Hearts), Demyx/Zexion (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea based not only off of the ReMind dlc, but a conversation had in a Zemyx discord server. Delivering the vessels to Ienzo gave Demyx purpose--why shouldn't he pursue that post KH3? What does life have in store for him now? Can Ienzo convince him to become human?

“...That was so fast! I don’t know how you did it.”

Demyx smiled and gave his customer a small salute. “What can I say. I pride myself in good service.”

She examined the package. “Well it shows. Ah--here. Would help if I paid for it, wouldn’t I?” She handed over some money. “Keep the change.”

It’d been a while since he used money, but he could tell she’d been generous with her tip. “Hey, thanks a bunch. Have a good one.”

“You too, sweetie.”

Last one of the day. He was free.

If someone had told Demyx a year ago that he’d have a full time job  _ and he’d like it, _ he would’ve called them crazy. But things had changed… a lot of things. Xehanort was dead, for one.

He felt it again--that surge of  _ almost _ feeling, but he smothered it and made his way back to the courier depot to give over the customer’s payment. Scrooge’s influence was quickly becoming a monopoly over Radiant Garden; but the fact that the guy was giving people what they legitimately needed helped. The city was scattered, and still a wreck in places, so it wasn’t always feasible for people to get goods, especially if they wanted to live in their old homes in the boonies, away from the reestablished civilization. That was where the couriers came in. With nothing left to do… no purpose… Demyx figured, well, he needed a way to kill time, and he’d done well enough delivering the vessels. Bringing people groceries and other knick-knacks seemed much less stressful.

He was always killing time, lately.

“There’s my best boy!”

The accent startled him almost more than the praise. Demyx was… not used to being told he was doing well. Then again, this was the first time he’d been legitimately working hard. “Heya, Scrooge. Got your money.”

“Excellent. Excellent.” He took the pouch from Demyx. “How’re ya doing, laddie?”

“Eh, same old, same old. You know?” The warehouse was small, boxes and crates and bags of things organized neatly for quick access. Demyx was infinitely grateful  _ he _ wasn’t the one who had to do all that. 

“Well, people are raving about you. You’re making me money hand over fist, boy. Money we can use to make this town what it once was.” A wink. “Keep working the way you are and you can take this over for me.”

He snorted. “Nice of you, but I’ll pass.”

“I mean it. I see potential in you.”

He felt the blood rush to his face. He took off his sunglasses. 

Scrooge frowned. “I admit that’s still… real disquieting, to see.” He touched the feathers under his own eyes. 

“...I guess the contacts didn’t come in?”

He shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Well then if that’s all you need from me.” He forced a smile. “See you tomorrow.”

Demyx put the glasses back on and started walking… home.

Not home, he reminded himself. A place where he lived, where he slept. But not  _ home. _ He wasn’t even sure he had one of those. He felt his gummiphone vibrate in his pocket, startling him. He was still getting used to the damn thing.

A text message from Ienzo.  _ Can you pick up some cilantro? I forgot some when I stepped out this afternoon and I need it for dinner. _

Another delivery. Well.  _ u got it, boss. _

He got the herb from the marketplace, and headed back. The sun was setting, refracting over the town, its beauty and its destruction. He sighed a little. At least in the castle he didn’t have to worry about covering his eyes. Scrooge only was understanding because the dark corridors meant he could travel anywhere, quickly, which was good for business; though constantly having to take the coat off and stuff it into his bag was pretty annoying. People were wary of the cloaks, the gold eyes--not that Demyx could blame them.

A lot of destruction. A  _ lot _ of destruction.

He bit his lip and went inside.

* * *

  
“...Perfect. I’m guessing you want a tip for your services,” Ienzo said. It was hard to tell when he was being sarcastic and when he wasn’t.

“...Ha,” Demyx said lamely. “As long as I get to eat.” He watched him cook for a moment, his hands (graceful and oddly naked without gloves) deftly slicing down the cilantro before he scattered it into a pan.

“It’s only fair, after all,” Ienzo added, more pleasantly. “Another successful day on the job?”

He stuck out his thumb. “You bet.”

“I’m glad you’ve found ways to fill your time.”

That  _ definitely _ had to be sarcasm, Zexion’s familiar sass. “Oh, funny. I didn’t  _ have _ to get that for you.”

He looked up, perturbed. “I was being serious.”

He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “Delivering the vessels made me feel like I had purpose, yadda yadda. When will that be ready? I want to go clean up.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not too long. Though before you go.”

Demyx tensed, knowing where this was going.

“Have you… considered my query, at all? I know you’ve been busy.” He spoke cautiously. 

He took a quick breath. “I mean--”

“It would be completely painless. Even would put you to sleep, we could give you drugs to stop your heart… and you’d wake up human. No need for violence. Or, for that matter, those.” He pointed to the sunglasses dangling from his collar.

Demyx’s hand, on the strap of his bag, clenched. “Well, you know, I don’t really care  _ that _ much.”

His tone remained affable, but there was something calculating in his teal eyes. “Try to think about it,” he suggested. “I’m sure living in the middle like this is uncomfortable.”

“Actually, it’s not.” He shook his head. Ironically, this was the happiest he’d been. “I’m going to, uh. Stash this.”

He tried to push the conversation out of his mind as he showered. Yeah, the gold eyes were annoying, but that was really all he felt of Xehanort. The guy was dead, after all. There was no way a tiny fragment could reconstruct his destroyed body, his shattered will.

Right?

He dressed slowly. It still felt odd to wear normal clothing, and looked odd, too. Getting to choose what he  _ wanted _ to wear, at least, was fun, and he enjoyed bright colors and patterns after so much black. He fixed his hair, trying not to look at his own face.

_ I’m fine. I’m me, a hundo percent. _

Ienzo was no longer Zexion, but that didn’t mean he lost the ability to mess with people’s heads.

It was still a little awkward, eating with all of them. Most of the time, they talked about research, about matters pertaining to the town, about science that was a little (okay, more than a little) out of Demyx’s realm of understanding. His own vocabulary had radically increased, mostly out of need for survival, considering how often they tossed around five-dollar words like it was the most natural thing in the world-- “peculiar” “juxtapose” “quixotic” “infinitesimal”. Not that he ever  _ said _ those words out loud. The last thing he needed was for them to have  _ more _ expectations of him.

But it would be more awkward to be alone. Bad enough to be a mooch and squirrel himself away. He should have the decency to show his face. After dinner, Demyx cleared the table--the least he could do being offered a free meal--and washed them for a while in the apprentices’ small kitchen. Over the running water he could so  _ barely _ hear conversation, voices lowered conspiratorially. He felt a jolt of something like anxiety, despite his Nobody state.

“...does not seem promising,” Ienzo was saying. “I’m admittedly more than a little worried--”

“Well this can’t go on much longer,” Even added. “He has to make up his mind.”

“Or someone has to do it for him,” Dilan said. “You are all being much too lenient.”

“I think patience doesn’t hurt,” Aeleus said. “Force it, and it could be disastrous. It’s only been a few weeks.”

There was silence; Demyx realized he’d shut the water to keep listening in, and turned it back on. He could feel the insistent thud of his heart--and the absence of his  _ heart _ \--to the core of his being.

* * *

At least he had one thing. Arpeggio felt so  _ natural _ in his arms. If being a Nobody was taboo, why did it feel so right to have it?

None of his melodies were making coherent sense today, the meters odd and off, keys refusing to take shape. The strings slipped out of tune, almost as if sensing how he felt. He sighed, tuned them, and adjusted the weight against his foot. This room, unused by the others and  _ just _ far enough away to be out of earshot, had become his space, a place where he could play and breathe and try to find his increasingly scattered bearings. He flipped open the notebook he’d been composing in, fixed a few things, and began to play it through.

“...So  _ this _ is where you disappear to.”

The voice startled him, a string  _ twanging _ discordantly. Arpeggio disappeared like a skittish cat. 

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to give you a fright.” Ansem smiled. Out of them all, he was the most unfamiliar, and ergo, the hardest to read, to get a grasp of. Demyx wondered how much of his “kindly old man” persona was a facade. Then again, he’d been so genuinely tender with Ienzo… 

Demyx turned and scratched at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “It’s just that if I play in my room it bothers everyone else--”

Ansem nodded once. “That’s quite alright. So many rooms in this castle now sit vacant, empty. Why should I be mad you’re using them?” He had two mugs, one in each hand. “Would you like some tea?”

Demyx thought warily back to the conversation, of them  _ forcing _ his hand. But to turn it down would seem suspicious. “...Sure.” He’d pretend to drink it, and dump it into one of the houseplants he’d dragged into here when Ansem left. “I’m… I’m such a mooch.” He forced himself to laugh.

To his surprise, Ansem sat on the floor next to him. “I do hope you don’t mind some company.”

“Uh--no.” He traced the rim of the mug with his finger. It  _ smelled _ good, but he didn’t trust it. “I guess I should say… thanks.”

“For the tea?”

“For… you guys putting up with me.” He felt his face heat. 

“You were very helpful. Roxas and Naminé owe you their lives, in a roundabout way.” He drank his own tea. 

This was meant to gas up his ego, but instead he said. “Ha. Hardly.”

Ansem frowned. “I had gathered you were rather proud of yourself.”

“I mean I  _ guess. _ ” He stared down at the green liquid in the mug, then out the window at the moon. “Yeah. They deserve to be happy, they’re both great kids.” He thought of his own exploitation of Roxas in the first Organization and flinched a little.

Being around all these people who want to be good was really messing with his head. 

“...I didn’t slip anything into that tea, if you were wondering,” Ansem said slowly. “I merely wanted to chat.”

Demyx couldn’t read dishonesty into his rust-colored eyes. He took one tiny, timid sip, and waited to see if his powers would tell him anything about the toxicity--no dice. It was good--vaguely flowery, like jasmine, and he sighed, on the  _ cusp _ of remembering something--

But then, like always, there was nothing. A blank. A void. 

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked.

“I know all these men. I don’t know  _ you _ . You’re a… new variable, in this ever more complex phase of our lives.”

“I’m just a guy,” he said, with a shrug. “In the wrong place, at the wrong time. Twice.”

Ansem canted his head slightly. Demyx had seen Ienzo do this--this must be where he got it from. “Did you willingly become a Nobody the second time?”

He squinted. Took another drink, a longer one. It warmed him. “I… this is going to sound horrible, but I  _ honestly don’t remember. _ I was just…” Even those memories were weird. “I woke up… somewhere… and there he was.”

“Xemnas?”

“Little Xehanort. And Xigbar too. But yeah. It was all just… hot and confusing. Like temperature wise. I was so dizzy, and my sides felt like they were being squeezed--” He balled up a fist. “Cause remember Sora beat my ass in, and I woke up with that. They asked if I wanted the pain to stop. I said okay.” He didn’t know why he was confessing all this. “I didn’t know  _ this _ , exactly, was what they meant. But I just rolled with it. You have to, when you’re me.” He laughed awkwardly. “Too little, too late, you know?”

“...Do you want to be human?” Ansem asked, cautiously, as though Demyx might bite.

“I know you guys want me to say yes. But I don’t know.” He blinked. 

“...Is there something below the surface that would make humanity unbearable?”

He took a breath. “Psychologically analyzing me?” he asked dryly. 

“If that is too painful a question, you needn’t answer it.” Ansem smiled. “Xehanort is gone. You have your life back--whatever that may mean to you. But I am curious--” He cut himself off.

“What?” Demyx asked. 

“Does it not frighten you, to carry a piece of him, however small?”

“I try not to think about it,” he said. “The guy’s had so much power over my life--”

“Why allow it to continue?”

His hands were trembling, he realized. 

“Demyx, you’re allowed to be afraid. It’s going to be frightening and confusing… but should you make this choice, we’ll be here to help you through that.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why? I… I’ve… I’m a stranger, an intruder. Besides…” He exhaled. “If I’m here--”

“You’d lose your means to travel.”

He took another drink, a longer one, to squelch the spark of emotion. “What if I remember, and I can’t go home?” He spoke without realizing, and jumped a little. His eyes snapped back up to Ansem.

“...You’ve no memory?” Ansem asked softly.

“No that was a lie and I totally do. Just kidding.” He forced a laugh.

He raised an eyebrow. “I admit this gives me some insight,” he said. “If you wish for me to… keep it between us, I can do so.”

He nodded once. “I need to sort my shit out.”

He chuckled. “As do all of us. Very well. Your secret is safe with me.”

He seemed like he meant it, but Demyx couldn’t be sure. 

Ansem stood and took Demyx’s empty mug. “Get some rest. You look like you need it.”

* * *

Sleeping was harder than it used to be. Demyx used to be able to lay down--or sometimes even just sit--and fall asleep almost at will. Now? Despite the physical exhaustion of his job, and the fact that his body was begging him to sleep, he… couldn’t.

He tried to push the thoughts away, the thoughts Ansem had not-so-subtly (face it, the old man, however good his intentions were, had come specifically to manipulate him) planted into his mind. Every time the thoughts poked out of the abyss, he tried to push them down.

Why didn’t he want to be human?

Recall Beethoven’s Ninth, note for note, in order, measure by measure.

Shouldn’t Xehanort’s heart scare him?

List the individual parts of his sitar.

Is he really so terrified of his own memory, what it could be? Or did he not want it, to be himself fully, again?

Demyx sat up. Clearly just lying here was not going to do the trick. He had to physically move to get away from all this. He pulled on a sweater and shoes and began walking, the light of his gummiphone piercing in all the darkness. There were hardly any Heartless now, the darkness a smooth navy blue. He heard his own heightened breathing. Once he was away from everyone’s rooms, he began whistling, to distract himself from the rising tide--

Another flashlight in the darkness. The tune cut off. “Demyx?” A voice asked, waveringly.

“Zex--Ienzo?” Demyx couldn’t see his face, just his silhouette. “What are you up to?”

“I could say the same.” Something about his voice was unsteady. Demyx took a few steps closer. 

“I… couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. “I wanted to see if walking for a little while would help.”

“I can’t sleep either.” He cleared his throat a little. “I’m afraid I’m a rather terrible insomniac. I always was.”

He considered taking the plunge. “You sound kinda… upset.” It was weird, to mesh together his concept of Zexion with emotion. He, who was always calm, unnervingly so. He raised his light a little; Ienzo flinched farther. The one eye Demyx could see was red. “No, you’re  _ definitely _ upset.”

Ienzo gritted his teeth. “Thank you for pointing out the obvious. Now if you’re done humiliating me--” He turned to leave. 

“Zex-- god damn, I have to stop doing that. Ienzo.” He had to jog a little, to keep up, despite the fact that Ienzo’s legs were shorter than his. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s--” He exhaled heavily. “For fuck’s sake, what’s  _ right? _ ”

The admission surprised him. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. I don’t expect you to.” The sharp undertone of his voice was clearly meant to hurt him, and it almost did. 

“Well then  _ enlighten _ me.”

The word gave Ienzo pause. He turned a little. “I’m not Zexion,” he said slowly.

“Yeah. No shit.”

“I mean I’m  _ not _ Zexion,” he repeated. “I’m the person I was before I turned.”

“I know I’m stupid, but I know how the process works.” He frowned.

“Do you know how old I was?” Ienzo asked.

Demyx shrugged. “I dunno, like fourteen?” Zexion had been in the Organization longer than he was, had been one of the founding members. But Demyx didn’t know how long they’d been there before he arrived. 

“I was eight.”

He realized, suddenly, how cold it was in the hallway. “No. There’s no way.”

“Clearly there must be, if I’m standing here.” He lowered his own light. 

“But I--wait.” This was giving him a headache. “You’re not--”

“Nobodies age,” he said, more quietly. “As we discovered.”

“So you mean you grew up--”

“Without a heart. Without  _ feelings. _ ” He spat the last word.

“That’s fucked  _ up. _ ”

There was a moment of silence, and Ienzo looked so stricken Demyx wondered if he’d said the wrong thing, if the other man would hit him. Instead, he just laughed a little, a slightly unhinged sound. “Yes. You’re correct in that regard.”

“Huh…” Demyx swallowed. “So you’re feeling stuff… and you’re way not used to it…”

“Very astute of you,” he said, with an eye roll. “Now if it’s all the same I should like to get back to bed--”

“Isn’t it funny, though?” he asked. “I mean, you’re judging me for not wanting to be human and yet… you’re in so much pain. Is it worth it?”

Ienzo grimaced. “Better than keeping the risk of a genocidal maniac in existence.” He shook his head. “If I’m a beginner at morality, Demyx, than you’re truly a rube.”

It was this that gutted him, rendered him speechless. 

“Good  _ night. _ I would  _ truly _ appreciate it if you kept this to yourself.”

* * *

He didn’t get any sleep, turning the interaction over and over in his mind. He felt nauseous, and wondered if dinner wasn’t reacting well with him. It took him hours to realize he was well and truly feeling something.

_ Guilt. _

Hot. Sickly. He considered calling Scrooge and telling him he wasn’t feeling well, that he needed the day off, but that meant he’d been spending a whole day with his thoughts, which was  _ so _ not appealing. 

By staying a Nobody… was he really making it possible for Xehanort to come back? Demyx had turned against Xehanort, consciously,  _ twice. _ If by keeping this tiny, sleeping fragment of him inside, he was keeping him alive…

He stumbled through the day wearily, running deliveries, not nearly so well as he had previously. Everyone seemed to notice. “You look sick, dear,” one old woman said. “Are they working you too hard?”

“You’re off your game, laddie,” Scrooge added at the end of day. “No complaints, of course, but…”

“I’m not feeling great,” he admitted. 

“Well don’t run yourself into the ground just to make me money.” He shook his head. “Aerith’s a healer, why don’t you have her look at you?”

“Maybe,” he mumbled. Scrooge didn’t need to know it wasn’t physical. 

“Go home, boy. Get some sleep.”

Demyx walked. Numbly.

How had he never noticed this numbness? It seemed to physically weigh him down. But if this was a Nobody numbness… this was all he’d felt for over five years now. Numbness. Static, silence.

Suddenly he had a lot more insight as to Ienzo’s breakdown.

Demyx went in the opposite direction of his room. In the lower floors of the castle, it was dank, damp, chilly, the ventilation not quite so good. He had to refer to a map on his gummiphone to find what he was looking for. He took a deep breath, approached the lab door, and knocked.

After a moment, Even finally answered. His hair was bound up, goggles around his neck. “...What do you want?” he asked. Since Demyx had helped him, he hadn’t been so cold, but he wasn’t oozing warmth, either. 

“Can we talk?”

Maybe it was the tone of his voice, but Even let him in. 

Demyx had never been to the lab. The walls were an industrial shade of pale blue. Several black marble tables were spread with papers, beakers, microscopes, and more equipment Demyx had no name for. A couple of jars of compounds sat out, for use in experiments. Even took off his goggles and gloves and pointed at a stool. He washed his hands.

Demyx sat. His feet hurt, for the first time in a long while. “So, this is awkward,” he began in a low voice.

“Something wrong with your body?” he asked. “I  _ am _ a doctor.”

“No. Well, at least not literally.” He took a deep breath. “Do you really think it’s possible that Xehanort could… possess me? I know I’m technically a vessel, but he’s  _ dead _ , he has no more will or whatever--”

Even’s expression was somewhat unreadable, his green eyes piercing. Green. Which meant he’d likely--

“Did you… did you kill yourself?” Demyx asked. 

He blinked. “In a manner of speaking. For me I suppose it was like… metaphysical showering.” He wrinkled his nose. 

“What was that like?” He wondered if he would get angry.

Even leaned against the counter. “Well, I wanted it to be quick, and, for the others’ sake, clean. I simply… took too many painkillers, and when I woke up, I was Even again.” A shrug. “The reaction was… rather dramatic. “Why didn’t I tell anyone” and all that.” 

“Did… you feel it? His heart leaving?”

He considered, crossing his arms. “I did feel pain, but I attributed it to my organs shutting down.” A pause. “I would do it much more humanely for you. Ensure you were deeply anesthetized before… giving you the euthanasia. It would legitimately feel like going to sleep, then waking up.” His tone was almost beseeching. “It would give the others great peace. And you yourself, I’m sure. To remain a Nobody for so long is unnatural, physically and mentally.”

“...You also didn’t have emotions for a long time,” Demyx said.

“Twelve years, to be precise.”

“Is it painful?”

Even blinked. “If I’m to be honest… it certainly isn’t easy. I’m feeling the weight of guilt, of all I did, not just in this world, but in all the others. But at the same time..” He sighed heavily. “I am me again, and I can more fully atone now that I am no longer Vexen.”

Demyx dropped his eyes. His hands were shaking again.

“You seemed to want to atone too, in your own way,” he said, almost gently. “Or you could pursue your music. Either way, your life is  _ yours _ . I’d hate for you to risk that for Xehanort.”

Demyx felt something inside of him threatening to give way, a sensation he hadn’t felt in years.

“Were you merely a Nobody, and not a vessel, this wouldn’t be such an issue.”

“I need… I need time, to decide.”

He sighed. “Demyx, I’m afraid--”

“Please. A few days. That’s all I ask.”

Even nodded slowly. “A few days.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx makes his choice, and has to find his way.

After work… after faint pops of joy giving his customers what they needed… Demyx considered. He stood at the postern, watching the town below. All these people… their lives… keeping this shard of Xehanort inside of him could threaten that, and it didn’t sit right. But Even and Ienzo were being crushed under the weight of their emotions. Would he? And what of his memories?

His phone went off.  _ I’d like to offer an olive branch. _ Ienzo.  _ Let’s get coffee. On me. _

Demyx could ignore him. He needed more insight.  _ Okay. _

Demyx almost didn’t recognize the person that came out to meet him. Ienzo wore a button-up, a soft gray sweater. He realized he’d never seen him in civilian clothing, not really--he’d always worn the apprentice coat or the black cloak, and the other night Demyx hadn’t exactly noticed his pajamas. His heart stuttered a little--was it out of surprise? “Whoa. Ienzo. Looking good.”

“You actually got my name right,” he said. He looked down at himself. “Yes, I do suppose it  _ is _ odd to be dressed so, isn’t it? Though--neither of us are exactly fashionistas.”

“Been a while since we could wear people clothes.”

He chuckled a little. “Quite. Well. No more uniforms.”

“We’re not exactly coworkers anymore.”

“...No. Shall we?”

They grabbed coffee from a small stall in the marketplace and walked for a while, finally coming to rest somewhere in the bailey. The coffee was good, a steady, fizzy warmth in his body. “This place… was your home, wasn’t it?” Demyx asked him.

Ienzo leaned against the stone sill. “Yes. I suppose it  _ is _ . In a lot of ways it feels so… unfamiliar to me. The face of the city has quite literally changed. I intend to… assist the committee, how I can. The restoration committee,” he added, at Demyx’s confused expression. “Amongst other things. My research  _ must _ be meaningful, after all the suffering I’ve wrought.”

“Atonement?” Demyx asked dryly.

“...Quite. I… feel a guilt like rivers.”

He breathed the steam of his cup. “I do too.”

Ienzo’s head snapped up. “You do?”

He nodded. “I… I never killed anyone, but I… know I did bad shit. For the sake of… the Organization. Which--why? I slacked off a lot, but not  _ all _ of the time. I… just needed a place to land, food to eat. They gave it to me.” A shrug. “But people died because of it.”

“You could join us,” Ienzo said. His eyes were flashing, telegraphing hope--Zexion had never been so easy to read. “You’re something of a jack of all trades--that could be useful.”

“...Yeah. Maybe.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid… I do have ulterior motives, for bringing you here.”

Demyx deflated a little. “Yeah. I’m not surprised.” He forced a smile. “Why spend time with me, right?”

Ienzo exhaled; Demyx realized this hurt him. “We’ve all… jointly come to a decision. Not me, necessarily. I’m… the messenger.” He sneered. “If you choose to remain a vessel, Radiant Garden will no longer be welcoming to you. We’ll tell the committee… who have friends in high places. This place would be your home no longer.” He took Demyx’s hand and squeezed it tightly, as if to impart something; the touch was sudden and shocking. “I do see such potential in you. Don’t squander it.”

“Pff. In me? Yeah. Right.” He pulled his hand back. 

“Your delivery of the vessels helped take down Xehanort. Why is it you hold to him so?”

“I don’t.” His voice was scratchy. “I hate it, I hate the way it makes me feel--”

“So then why don’t you want to be human?”

“Because I’m scared of remembering.”

A flock of birds flew by. Ienzo’s eyes were wide with shock. “Are you missing memories?”

“All of them from before I was a Nobody.” He was breathing hard. “You have to be strong willed to be a Nobody. I  _ really _ don’t want to find out what happened to me to make me so strong. It’s gotta be pain. It’s gotta be trauma. I--”

“Oh…” His face was pink. “Oh, Demyx.”

“See? Not so easy now, is it?”

His expression became morose. “I know very well the pain of memories.” He touched the base of his throat, for some reason. “I can help you.”

“But why would you?”

“Would it be so awful, were we to actually become friends?”

“You--you hated me.”

He considered this. “Being Ienzo has given me clarity,” he said softly. “Clarity, and patience. You and I… we’re both alone, in this.”

He scoffed. “What about all the other apprentices? Didn’t they raise you?”

“They betrayed me.”

Demyx blinked. “What?”

Ienzo cocked his head. “You were there for my reunion with Ansem. You remember that--”

Demyx felt a surge of something. “... “They told me you’d gone mad,”” he repeated slowly. “They… lied to you. About what happened with Ansem.”

“And Ansem was my adoptive father.” He locked eyes with him. “They tossed him into the realm of darkness like he was so much garbage… and lied to me about it.”

Demyx whistled. “Yeah. Yikes. I can see why you’re not on great terms with everyone.”

“It’s a bit more complex than that… but it is hard to be vulnerable. I should like to have… an ally.”

He raised an eyebrow. “In me?”

“At the very least let’s promise not to lie to one another.” He offered his hands.

Demyx stared at it. After a moment, he shook it. “Lying is exhausting.”

He laughed a little. “Will you let me help you?”

The surge of feeling tightened, became stronger; he felt heat behind his eyes. Tears? He touched them But it wasn’t painful. Was it possible humanity was more than pain?

The look in Ienzo’s eye told him it might be. It also told him they both needed to come to this conclusion. 

“...Okay.”

* * *

The table under him was cold. “A little stick,” Even said. Demyx felt a pinprick of pain in his left hand and cursed the fact that Even chose this one, the one so tightly linked to his music. “That’s merely fluids.”

Even was quite literally talking him through the process. He stared up at the ceiling, the lighting fixtures. “Will you tell me when it starts?”

A pause. “Do you want me to?”

“...I think so.”

“...Alright.” Even squeezed his shoulder gently. “You should feel nothing other than drowsiness.”

“...Can I have a blanket?”

“Of course.” It was hard to see, but he could hear Even rummaging, and then he felt the wool against his skin. “Are you ready?”

His heart was beating so hard. The fear tightened into a sharp pit. “I’m scared.”

“You’ll feel much better when you wake. I promise.” Even’s gentleness, in this moment, was jarring. Then again, Demyx had given him what they all wanted. He felt something cool in the port line in his hand. “Some mild anti-anxiety medicine. Calm the adrenaline. It's instinctive, as a Nobody or otherwise.”

It crept over him slowly. “Where’s Ienzo?”

“He’ll be here. Try to breathe.”

Time shifted, became weird. He heard the voice, almost angry--

“You’ve started without me.”

“Just prep work. Never you mind.”

Demyx felt a hand take his free one. “I’m right here,” Ienzo said. 

“Your friendship confuses me,” Even admitted. “But all the same. Are you calmer now, Demyx?”

He couldn’t tell if it were the drug, or the tenuous connection to the person next to him. Almost overwhelming, to not be alone. He’d been alone so long, he thought. “I think so.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Keep breathing. Here’s the sedation.”

This injection felt warm, not cold; he realized almost with a jolt that there was no turning back. Ienzo rubbed his hand gently. His skin was so soft. Demyx tried to focus on this, not the steadily invading wooziness. The drowsiness. “I… feel it.”

“Go to sleep,” Ienzo said softly. “It’ll be over soon.”

It was like a wave, hard to fight, a peculiar, heavy sensation. The world started to get hazy.

“...There he goes. I’ll start the pentobarbital--”

Hazy and warm… not so bad.

“...A touch more of the sedative.”

The wave became stronger, and dragged him under. 

* * *

He felt weird. Heavy, almost. Achy, sore. 

“...And there we have it. Simple.”

Demyx blinked. He was still on the table. It was still cold.

“Vitals all stabilized. Perfect, if I do say so myself. You can breathe a sigh of relief, Ienzo. I know I am.” 

There was still a hand holding his; he gave it a squeeze. “Hello,” Ienzo said. “Good morning.”

“Did I die?” he asked. He was slurring a little.

“Very briefly.”

His vision was blurry. He saw Even’s silhouette, the blonde hair. He felt him tugging at his eyelid. “I need to see your eyes, boy.” A bright light sent a sharp pain through his head. “Excellent.”

“It’s gone?” Demyx was so woozy. 

“Yes.”

“He’s gone.” He felt the relief, thick and pervasive. “Wow… why do I still feel weird?”

“...The sedative remained in your body when you passed. Much as you woke up with your wounds, you were reborn… sedated. It’ll fade, in time. Sleep, if you’re tired.”

“Maybe…”

He drifted for a time, and when he woke up he was in his real bed, the port gone from his hand. He still felt weird, shifted a bit to the left. Demyx realized it was because he was himself for the first time in years.

No memories. No name, still.

Would it just take time? In its own way, this was relieving too. 

On the topic of relief… he was pretty desperate to pee. At least when he moved he had full control of himself, though he did still feel oddly heavy, and somewhat dizzy. He got to the bathroom, peed, and stood for a long time washing his hands mostly because the warm water felt so good.

(He suspected he was still a bit high.)

Almost dazedly, Demyx looked up at himself in the mirror. His hair was lank, unstyled, but more noticeable than this were his eyes. He touched the mirror. Teal, devoid of Xehanort. A rush of feeling brought tears to his eyes. He sank to his knees.

Human. Whole. 

He cried for a while, on that cold floor, and then suddenly with a jolt put the pieces together. If he’d lost the ability to use the corridor--what else had he lost--

But Arpeggio came to him, almost instantly. The pervasive feeling of relief only got stronger.  _ I’m me. _ He let it disappear and tried to pull himself together. Maybe he shouldn’t have waited so long. Maybe it would all be fine.  


* * *

  
The emotions were all so goddamn  _ intense. _

For a few days after his recompletion, Demyx wandered around in a haze. Admittedly, it did feel good to not constantly have to cover his eyes. While his delivery times were no longer so good, they were still decent enough. 

“I won’t lie, it’s good to see you like this, laddie,” Scrooge said. “So we lose a few minutes--it pays for itself in relief.”

He washed his coat, buried it in the drawers of his dresser. Maybe to never look at again. 

The strangest things made him cry. The smell of lilacs in the plaza, the taste of bone broth. He heard a folk song playing on someone’s radio and was so inconsolable he had to be led back to the depot and given tea. It had to do with his memory, but where were the memories? How was he feeling all this based on things that weren’t there?

Even did a neurological exam. There was nothing physically wrong with him. “It may be something that will trigger,” he said. “I would be careful, if I were you.” 

The feelings rubbed him raw, not just the bittersweet sadness, but a paralyzing anger, at himself, at Xehanort, at everything and everyone that did him wrong. But mostly at himself. Guilt, too, flooded him at weird times, almost made him physically ill.

_ I hurt people. I hurt people. I hurt people. _

Suddenly his desire to deliver packages seemed frivolous. But he kept at it, mostly because he didn’t know what else to do with himself.

There was another emotion that was coming to him, one arguably more terrifying than the rest.

In their off moments, he spent time with Ienzo. They walked, often--Ienzo needed out of the castle, needed air and light. Demyx found himself watching him, letting his eyes trace the curve of his lips, or jaw. He made Ienzo laugh once with one of his lame jokes and thought about the sound of that laugh, the music of it, for the rest of the day and then some. Sometimes they would accidentally touch on these walks, brushing hands or shoulders, and he would feel something like a jolt.

He wondered if Ienzo felt the same way too. It was hard to tell, the boy was so hard to read, and it was even more difficult to tell if his comments were sass or simple teasing. But the pull Demyx felt when he was around him was almost magnetic. He should probably fight it, he knew. If Even found their  _ friendship _ confusing, how would he feel about something more? And the others?

He tried to hold it together, to get his mind off of these feelings, but they were so deep--so embodied--it was hard to tell. He settled for processing them with Arpeggio, songs with no clear beginning or end.

“...That was lovely.”

Demyx’s head snapped up. There Ienzo was, in his lab coat, the front button open. He had a tablet in one hand.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. It’s been so long since I heard music. Might I join you?”

“...Sure.” The room was more and more his space, from the cushions, to the houseplants, to the odds and ends he’d collected. It was getting dark out, and the glow of the lamp seemed pinkish, warm. 

Ienzo grabbed a cushion and sat next to him. He stretched. 

“Long day at work?”

“Every day’s a long day,” he said, with a sigh. “Hopefully, though, work that will be meaningful in the long run.”

Demyx waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

“How are you feeling?” Ienzo asked instead. “Because  _ I _ feel like a chicken with its head cut off.”

“Do you?”

“...Yes. There is… quite a lot of anger, in my heart. Quite a lot of guilt. It is, frankly, a lot to bear.”

Demyx noted the circles under his eyes, the way he blinked like it hurt. “Yeah. You’re telling me. I cry so fucking much. It’s irritating.” 

“Making up for lost time,” he said dryly. “This life just feels so odd. Without my powers, and shackled by my own emotion, I--” He scoffed a little. “I feel  _ weak _ .”

“I mean, you  _ seem _ put together.”

“I  _ seem _ like a lot of things. So do you. How bizarre, to see oneself change.” He sighed. “And now I’m waffling.”

“...I like listening to you talk.” He did, too. He could again feel that pull, that desire to touch him, to take his hand. “I don’t think you’re weak. Not at all.”

“That’s flattering.”

“I mean it. It takes a lot, to spring back from… what happened to us. From what we did. I’m trying to come to terms with it myself.”

“Do your emotions also rub you raw?”

“And then some.”

Ienzo looked out the window. “What next,” he said quietly. 

“...I think that’s something we have to figure out.”

“How bizarre, to be free.”

“It… it really is.” He looked at him, and felt the blood rush to his face. “You were… a kid when you became a Nobody. Do you feel more like a grown up now?”

Ienzo touched his chest. “I do but I don’t.” His face flushed. “I am…  _ feeling _ things no child would feel.”

His heart stuttered. “Oh?”

“Adult emotions are complex. Messy.”

“...Oh.”

“My body doesn’t  _ quite _ feel like it’s mine.”

“I feel the same.”

He smiled. “The others don’t. I guess it’s just because of our upbringing… such as it were.” He took a quick breath. “I… I must admit something, and I do hope you won’t read into it.”

“Um, okay.”

He looked almost pained when he admitted, “I feel attracted to you. I’m perfectly aware it’s probably a cocktail of  _ finding _ such feelings and only really having  _ you _ in my age group, so it may pass--”

“I feel it too.”

For a moment there was just silence. 

“I… I thought I was crazy. But I… that music. It was about you.”

Ienzo blushed. “I thought it sounded like longing.” A pause. “So what do we do? I know what I  _ want _ …” His hand clutched at his sweater. “But I don’t know what I  _ need _ .”

“Would it kill you to just take what you want for once in your life?”

He looked stricken. Then, “I suppose not.”

Demyx turned and kissed him. It was a messy, awkward, potent sort of kiss, both of them inexperienced. Once they figured it out they were kissing each other with a sort of fervor, bright hot paralyzing need. 

Ienzo pulled away, breathing hard. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”

“Me either.”

He laughed a little, and so did Demyx. “Had I done this last year I’d have gone feral.”

He touched Ienzo’s face, feeling him lean into it. “It really is a  _ weird _ concept.”

Ienzo nodded. He was flushed. “Kiss me,” he said. “I need to know more.”

Demyx had no issues complying. It was a steady sort of unraveling, his hands in Ienzo’s hair, the other boy’s arms around his waist. He broke away from his lips and instead kissed his throat, his jaw, wanting to understand every bit of him. A delicious sort of tension twined inside of him. Finally giving into these feelings was like letting go of something heavy. He reached to undo the top buttons of Ienzo’s shirt and felt him tense. “I’m sorry--”

“I…” He was breathing hard. “Don’t be frightened.”

He blinked. “What?”

“There’s a… scar. From my… Nobody’s death.”

He squinted. There weren’t any marks on his jugular. Ienzo sighed, a sound that was almost a groan, and undid the top buttons, pulling them aside so Demyx could see.

A thick scar, jagged, around his windpipe, all the way around his neck. “Oh fuck,” Demyx said. “That must’ve really  _ sucked _ .”

“Putting it mildly,” he said. 

“Can I touch it?”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

He did so, running his finger along the skin; Ienzo shuddered. 

“That feels… the calluses…” 

“Do you like that?”

“Yes.”

“What about this?” He kissed the scar, pulling Ienzo closer.

“This is so… interesting,” he said breathlessly. “How all this feels--”

“You’ve never--”

“No.”

“...Me either.”

For a moment they just tried to catch their breath. “The sensible thing would be to stop,” Ienzo said. It was beyond odd to see him fall apart like this--but also a turn on. “But I’m tired of being sensible.” He kissed him, reaching for the hem of Demyx’s shirt, pulling it off. Demyx’s self-control, already tenuous, completely shattered, and he got hard. He struggled with the buttons of Ienzo’s shirt. They eased down onto the floor, the cushions. 

He didn’t think it was possible to  _ feel _ this good. He unbuttoned Ienzo’s slacks, noticing that he was also hard, and almost touching it made his breath catch. “How far do you want to go?” Demyx asked him. 

“I…” He seemed a bit dazed. “I want to… know what it feels like to…”

“...Come?”

He nodded. “I… haven’t.”

“I don’t believe that. No way.”

“ _ You _ try having puberty without feelings.”

Demyx laughed. “You’re sure?”

“That I haven’t had an orgasm? Or--”

“That you want to do this.”

“Yes.”

He kissed him again. It felt almost as though they’d done this before, almost like he knew what to do. It still took a minute or so of steeling himself and finding the nerve before he reached down to touch Ienzo’s dick, sliding his hand down the waistband of his pants. Ienzo almost bit him in surprise. After a moment, and almost experimentally, he reached for Demyx’s own dick, and feeling his hand along it caused him to gasp out loud. 

Ienzo withdrew, only to reach up to take the pants off, so Demyx did the same, and only then did the surreality of the moment set in. This was  _ definitely _ the result of a backlog of hormones, but at the same time, it seemed natural.  _ I’m about to give Zexion a handjob. Holy fuck. _ He couldn’t help but laugh a little, to abruptly stop when Ienzo pressed his lips against his throat. The light was dim, yet still the sight of his naked body made Demyx shake. “You’re so… beautiful,” he gasped. “I never noticed.”

“We’ve been hiding for such a long time,” he said, between kisses. “I think that’s over now. Don’t you?” He took Demyx’s dick into his hand. The touch was clumsy, but still overwhelming, and he almost lost his balance. He stroked Ienzo, hearing something like a moan catch in his throat. 

They were both aware this wouldn’t last long. There was almost an urgency to it, the tension heightening until it was almost painful. Demyx knew this was going to feel a lot different than any of his self-servicing from before, and the anticipation of finding that out only made it stronger. He felt Ienzo bucking into his hand.  _ We can fall apart together, _ he thought. “Are you close?” he asked breathlessly.

“I… I think so…” Ienzo pulled him closer, tightening his grip. 

Demyx felt it happen, against his palm. Ienzo made another soft noise, his hand slackening momentarily. Demyx stroked him through it. Seeing it only brought him closer to the edge, and as soon as Ienzo had enough wherewithal to touch him again, he caved. It was a slick sweet shock to his system, making him dizzy and, more unfamiliar yet, vulnerable. He tried not to let his weight fall onto Ienzo and instead settled next to him.

For a moment they both struggled to catch their breath. 

“Does that…” Demyx felt so odd, so stripped bare. “Does that answer your question?”

“I suppose it does,” Ienzo said. “Things… escalated rather quickly.”

From first kiss to handjob in fifteen minutes--probably less. “It did indeed happen.” 

“I…” He trailed off. “It’s so strange… how some of it is so instinctual but some of it… really isn’t.”

“...Yeah.”

“I don’t suppose you have something for me to--”

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” He handed him a clean handkerchief and took one for himself. They cleaned up and dressed in an embarrassed sort of silence. “… That was fun.”

“I could be amenable to… doing it again.” He flushed. 

“Another experiment?”

“...Of a sort.” Ienzo kissed him once more, gently. “Do you also feel very raw?”

He swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. “I really do.”

“I guess that must be somewhat normal, then.” 

“Could I… could I hold you?” He felt mortified to ask. 

“Like?”

“Like--” He sat and drew him into his arms. “Like this?” It took Ienzo a moment to relax more fully against him.

“That is… lovely. I suppose with the release of oxytocin--”

“...You talk too much.”

“Quite. Then I’ll rest.”

* * *

They fell in love slowly. It took time. Weeks, then months. Physical chemistry wasn’t all, but it  _ was _ intense, something they explored in moments alone. Demyx felt like he was being given a gift. Ienzo’s mind was beyond fascinating, the way he saw the world so different. He was feeling more and more optimistic.

He waited for his memories. He had dreams of what he thought was his past, of the  _ Keyblade legacy that sleeps within him, _ or whatever. After some intense scientific probing, all the conclusions Even could come to was that… well… if Demyx truly  _ was _ from the past, he would’ve lost all his memories in the travel, and they might never come. He grieved this for some time, but Ienzo helped him through it, bit by bit. He might never know who he was before, but he knew who he was now.

A musician. A courier. A friend, a lover. Someone who could make up for the bad things he did. Someone who could heal.

“Package for you this time, laddie,” Scrooge said. 

Demyx raised an eyebrow. “For me? Are you sure?”

“Sure as there are feathers on my arse.”

He took the box into his hands. It was small, maybe the size of a shoebox. He held it up to his ear. “Well it’s not ticking.” He opened it with a box cutter. Inside was a glass bottle, and in the glass bottle was a single piece of paper. 

_ Surprised you made it this far. Bet things are a clusterfuck. _

_ You have a piece of him, but that doesn’t define you. At least, it doesn’t have to. Maybe it was stupid of the old man to tell you, but it’s possible to DO something about that legacy of yours. To remember. _

_ I can help you--after all, we ARE old friends. _

_ Contact me at this address. Or don’t. The choice is up to you. _

_ Xig. _

Demyx laughed. Laughed a lot. It wasn’t a choice, at all. He put the letter inside the bottle and the bottle inside the box, taped it back up neatly. Picked up the “return to sender” stamp, inked it thoroughly, tamped it down.

“What’s funny?” Scrooge asked.

“Someone made a mistake,” he said. “That’s all.”


End file.
